Page 4 of The Scout
She turned to look at me. “You going to be okay?”
“Yes, I just wish I wasn’t withholding the truth from my son.”
“I know, but you’re doing the right thing.”
I agreed, but when Jimmy came down the stairs thirty minutes later, freshly showered, wearing his favorite jersey with his father’s name on the back, an instant lump formed at the base of my throat.
Time was no longer on my side. The reunion would be here before I knew it. I looked into my son’s light-blue eyes and pulled him into my arms. I didn’t care that he was a teenager. I needed to hug him.
He laughed. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes, baby. I’m fine. Now let’s order that jersey. Then I want to hear all about your game today.”
“Okay. I still can’t believe you went to high school with Cash Jameson. You know what I was thinking today?”
My heart stuttered with nerves, but I asked anyway, “What’s that?”
“It’s a good thing he’s not in my class.”
“Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t be the starting pitcher. No one has an arm like Cash.”
“Honey, yours is better.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”
Rather than continue to compare his arm to Cash’s, I changed the subject. “Want mac and cheese for dinner?”
“With bacon?”
“Is there any other way?”
“You’re the best, Mom.”
I nodded and turned away before he could see the tears in my eyes. Just like the day he was born, I silently vowed to protect him no matter what. It had been just the two of us, and if Cash didn’t want anything to do with him, we’d be just fine. I’d make sure of it.
Chapter2
Cash
I sat behind the backstop netting at River Junior College alongside Jake Webster, another pro baseball scout. While I sought out players for the Utah Hawks, he did the same for the Colorado Bears. Both of us had our radar guns pointed at the pitcher, Elias Mitchell, waiting for him to release the ball.
After Elias went into his motion and delivered the pitch, I pushed the trigger. As soon as the ball popped into the catcher’s mitt, I glanced at the small screen. Seventy-one miles per hour for a curveball wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t a strike. As a former professional pitcher, I knew not all would be, but so far, Elias had walked four batters, and they were only in the second inning.
“He’s not bad,” Jake said, glancing at me. “What do you think?”
Elias wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t great either. Jake didn’t play professional ball. His granddaddy owned the Bears, and he’d given him this job right out of college. That wasn’t the first time Jake had wanted my opinion. It was bad enough that I couldn’t play anymore, but helping this guy because he didn’t know what was good or not pissed me off.
Rather than give anything away, I replied, “Depends on what you’re looking for.” In other words, if you’re looking for a guy who doesn’t hide the ball well, has a telling delivery, a current 6.25 earned run average (ERA), and a slow release, then go for it. The Hawks had no use for him. Elias would be bummed because he had always played ball in Utah. River Junior College was only ten minutes from the Hawks’ park. I understood that desire, but life wasn’t always fair.
I stood, and Jake’s head snapped up to look at me. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I need to take off. Have an appointment to get to,” I lied. “Have a good one.”
“You too.”
After snatching my phone out of my pocket, I glanced at the messages. There were a handful from college coaches asking for updates about their players, and another from my assistant, Leo, which simply said:Call me.